A Warm Trend
by Jessahme Wren
Summary: Liz and Red's relationship is in shambles. Can a trip to Cuba heal their broken trust? AU 1x07.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Not mine; I own nothing. **

**A/N: This started as a oneshot, but quickly turned into something else. I would love to know what you think.**

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The elevator shuttered and stopped. Lizzie looked around, instinctively trying to find the source of the disruption. "What the hell just happened?" And then she saw Reddington; he was _smiling._

She narrowed her eyes, realization dawning. "How did -"

"You think I can't do that Lizzie? You think I can't shut down a freight elevator at an FBI black site?" He took a step toward her, fedora in hand. "I can do anything I want to, Lizzie." He was close enough for his breath to stir the loose strands of hair and she could smell his aftershave.

She stepped away from him, the close proximity throwing her slightly off balance. She withdrew her cell phone. No signal. His soft laughter echoed off the metal walls of the closed-in space surrounding her. He wagged his finger like she was a petulant school girl. "That won't work either dear," he said dryly. "It's also shielded." He narrowed his eyes. "This elevator is now the most secure place on the planet."

Liz pocketed the cell phone. Her heart did a little flip with the realization of his words. She was all alone, but not alone. She flexed her fingers.

"What do you want?"

Red circled her as an animal circles its prey. His stare was even more unnerving than usual. He stepped inside the circle he was making and spoke through her hair. "I want you to stop fighting me," he whispered.

His breath in her ear had a disarming effect, and he knew it. _Damn him_, she thought. He was trying to play her like he had the first day they met. She steeled her fortitude by counting backwards in her head. _25...24...23...  
_

"You see Lizzie, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you," he said steadily. "And you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me." He was looking at her lips; she had licked them nervously and they were still moist. "You would be at a desk somewhere reading my file, wondering why Ressler had dog-eared so many pages." Red frowned. "How boring."

Irrationally, Liz imagined he could hear her heart beating. She stepped away from him, trying to regain distance. The damn elevator was so small...

"I'm not fighting you." She folded her arms across her chest. _Body language 101: Leave me alone_. "I've worked with you; I've done everything asked of me," she said evenly.

He cocked his head ever so slightly. "Such a good agent," he said sarcastically. "But we do make a pretty good team, don't we?"

Apparently Body Language 101 was a class Red never had to take, because he was gradually closing the distance between them. She looked him hard in the eyes. "We are not a team."

Red smiled. He had been moving his fingers around the brim of the fedora, making slow circles and then beginning again in the other direction. His hand went up to shepherd an errant lock of her hair, and he leaned in close. "Then what would you say we are," he murmured.

It was the out she was looking for. Before the last syllable, she had his hand behind his back, his thumb locked in a painful and unnatural position, his face against the steel wall of the elevator. His startled laugh set her teeth on edge. "You start this elevator right now," she spat. She wrung the compromised arm for emphasis and he grunted.

"Or what," he said with effort. "Or you'll tell your husband Tom? Or whoever he is?"

His words caught her momentarily off guard, which was his intention. In that instant of wavering, Red had her legs out from under her and both wrists pinned against the wall before she could cry out. His body was flush against hers, and his arms, deceptively pedestrian under his tailored shirts, were pylons of strength. For the first time since he'd stopped the elevator, she felt a momentary flutter of panic.

"I spent six months in Nepal studying Lama Pai," he said into her ear. "Don't try that again, Lizzie because I really don't want to hurt you." She struggled, attempting to twist away but only succeeding in arching her body further into his. "You're hurting me now," she said through gritted teeth.

He studied her face as if it hung in a museum. "No," he said simply, "I haven't hurt you yet."

Sometimes she forgot who he was, she thought. His pristine dress and impeccable mannerisms portrayed an image of gentility. But he was a monster, a beast in gentleman's fair.

She screamed. It was fruitless and it only weakened her resolve, but she screamed anyway. He let her. Waves of panic and despair threatened to crash overhead. It was so tempting to let them carry her away, she thought. She began to cry. "Shhh..." he cooed in her ear. "Everything's alright Lizzie." Her body instantly responded, his voice spreading through every nerve-ending. She hated him for that.

"Now that's out of the way," he said casually, "can we talk?" He still held her firmly, but she ignored him. "I'm not gong to hurt you Lizzie. Look at me."

She did. His eyes were soft, and there was fire there that wasn't there before. _He's enjoying this_, she thought. "Come with me to Cuba."

"Got to hell," she shot back.

"I had a timeshare there once and believe me, it's vastly overrated," he said glibly. "Come with me to Cuba."

"Red -"

"What, Lizzie? What? What could you possibly say that would be an adequate excuse for you not coming with me."

She closed her eyes and let out a small breath. "Let me go Red," she said quietly. Their faces were inches apart, and the warmth from his skin held her more so than his physical power.

He surprised her by doing as she asked. She rubbed her wrists, coaxing the feeling back into he hands as he looked at her. She worried the scar on her palm instinctively, and his eyes tracked it. She stopped, feeling self conscious.

"If you ever do that again I swear to you-"

"Be careful of your next words, Lizzie, or you'll never find out about that scar."

She looked at him, shocked. He he paid her no mind. "Luli, as you will," he said quietly into his watch. Liz stared at him, dumbfounded as the elevator lurched to life. "What did you say?"

"Your scar," Red said conversationally as he straightened his tailored vest. "I met your father the night before the accident." He looked at her knowingly. "If you can call it an accident."

The elevator settled and two halves of yellow steel opened into daylight. Red adjusted his fedora and slipped on a pair of designer sunglasses. He stepped out into the sun.

"Red, wait."

He stopped but did not turn around. Secretly, he smiled.

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	2. Chapter 2

**A moment of silence for Luli. She will live on in my fic. Thank you so much to everyone who is reading/following/commenting.**

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Red opened the door for her before climbing in himself. Liz sat uncomfortably, knees together and staring wistfully out of the window. There was plenty of room in the back of the luxury car, but Liz had managed to wedge herself into the farthest corner.

"I have to call Cooper," she said. Red waived his hand dismissively. "No need. I have your mission briefing right here."

_Bastard_. He had known she would go with him before they stepped foot in that elevator. The power he seemed to have over Cooper was disconcerting; she hoped it wouldn't end up compromising the Bureau. Liz had pressed Cooper about it _once. _She wouldn't do that again.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He smiled at her smugly. Red sat facing her, his legs crossed and his fedora over his knee. "Save your money Red. You don't want to know what I'm thinking."

She kept her head buried in the mission briefing all the way to the private air strip. He never stopped watching her.

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The private jet wasn't that spacious, but she'd chosen a seat near the back as far away from Red as possible. She reclined on her side, sinking into the supple gray leather with a blanket pulled up to her chin. She did not sleep. Quietly, she wondered what the hell she was doing on a plane with Raymond Reddington when the one thing she needed most was distance from him.

"Lizzie." Her eyes were closed, feigning sleep, but she could feel his cool shadow over her. She opened one eye.

"Go away Red."

He laughed that throaty chuckle of his she found so unnerving. "I can't. We've work to do." He settled in the seat adjacent to her and waited for her sit up.

Regrettably, she shirked the warm comfort of the blanket and smoothed her ruffled hair. "What do you want?" To her ears she sounded whiny, and she detested that.

He smiled. "The man we're looking for is a weapons dealer, among other things, and a procurer of rare items of the rather dangerous sort."

"I've read the briefing, Red."

He continued, nonplussed. "What you haven't read is that Manny is also in bed with some of the biggest Russian arms dealers in the world, arms dealers that have plans on making their debut on the American scene very soon. One of them is now in Cuba."

Liz had been listening despite her apparent indifference. "Is that why you need me, for meeting the other contact?"

He nodded, his head slightly tilted. "That, and for number 15 on my bucket list...'walk on a beach with Lizzie.'" He smiled his little half smile. "I'd really like to cross that one off."

Much to her annoyance, she felt a blush spreading over her face and neck. "You're an asshole Red." She turned away from him, grabbing her blanket and pulling it over her like a protective shield.

Red, obviously satisfied with having gotten under skin, turned to the slight, dark haired woman near the front of the plane. "Luli," he called a little too loudly. "Luli come sit with me. Lizzie is being mean." His impetuous tone made him sound like a spoiled child, which, to Liz at least, was partly true. She watched as the woman dutifully closed the laptop she was working on and met Red halfway. She moved cat-like, Liz observed, and when she met Red she snaked an arm around his waist. He leaned in and kissed her just below the ear. They walked off together holding hands.

Liz suddenly did not want to be there, in his world and on his terms. She didn't want to be one of his playthings like Luli or another pawn in his twisted games. She didn't want to be any of it.

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	3. Chapter 3

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They arrived in Cuba in the late afternoon. She was groggy from the flight and the period of rest; Liz had always been a person who felt better when up and moving. As for Red, he looked annoyingly refreshed. Whatever he'd done with Luli probably had something to do with that, Liz thought. He wore a fresh suit and fedora, both in a lighter color. Luli was nowhere to be found.

Liz realized she was fixating on the girl, on him, and she forcibly stopped herself. What he did with whom was nothing to her.

"Lizzie?" She looked up to find Red standing over her. "You were a thousand miles away just then." He quirked his mouth. "Can I come?"

He held out his hand. She ignored it. She pushed past him to walk down the short aisle toward the exit. "No," she called back over her shoulder. "You can't."

He pursed his lips and followed her into the warm afternoon of Havana.

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They cut through the tight streets in the back of a blue '56 Chevy in pristine condition. The white leather interior had not a scratch on it, and the chrome and whitewalls gleamed. Liz looked out of the window eagerly. She had never been to Cuba (or many places outside of the U.S., for that matter), and the latent excitement of being in new surroundings began to stir her interest beyond the mission at hand. Liz had not seen enough of the city to formulate an opinion, but everything from the window looked vibrant and relaxed. She suddenly felt out of place in her black pantsuit and realized she hadn't packed any bags.

Red looked utterly at home as Dembe drove. "Up here on the left, Dembe."

"Where are we going?" Neither of them had spoken since the plane. Red looked at her. "To that little place I told you about," he said with a smile.

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Red guided her into the small shop, his hand resting comfortably in the small of her back. His hands were warm, and his touch seemed to burn through the fabric and into her skin, making it hard for her to focus. Liz imagined finding the ghost of that touch later that night in the mirror.

Red greeted the older woman behind the counter, speaking to her in fluent Spanish. Liz caught a few phrases in the friendly exchange but nothing she could piece together. The woman regarded her briefly, then said something to Red. When she walked away, his expression was unreadable.

Red held out his arm, vying for her escort. For appearances sake, Liz dutifully slipped her arm in his. "What did she say back there," she inquired quietly as they walked near the back of the shop. Red paused, considering. "I told Margarite that I needed something beautiful. She told me I already had that."

There was a twinkle in his eye when he looked at her, and she instantly reddened. Liz chided herself for the little slip; it was very likely Red was lying. He was a master manipulator, after all. She could sense the heat in her face anyway and it seemed to please him.

When they reached the small back room, Liz was surrounded in seconds by a half dozen hands that measured, trimmed, and matched fabric against various parts of her body. The seamstresses compared fabric swatches from bolts of rich and brightly colored fabric, periodically asking Liz to chose this color or that textile. Although she had no proof, she was sure that Red had vetoed at least a few of her decisions behind her back.

He sat in a large chair in the corner of the room, sipping tea with a newspaper on his lap. He looked incredibly relaxed. She envied that about him. Red seemed to exude a sort of practiced comfort almost anywhere. She wished she could accomplish half as much contentment at home, let alone away.

Red allowed her to take a few things off the rack, but those items had to be altered to fit her body perfectly. The rest were to be custom made. _How long did he think she would be here, anyway, _she thought absently. Liz found the whole affair highly excessive, but did not protest.

After the measurements and alterations, she was taken to a dressing room to change. Instead of the clothes she had chosen, though, there hung a single dress on a hook. A simple, white, Guayabera dress. The one Red had mentioned back at the black site. She realized then that Cuba was just another stage for one of Red's dramas, an elaborate game of which she was an integral piece. The confrontation in the elevator was just a means to draw her out. The tease about her scar sealed the deal. For whatever reason, he wanted her here, in Cuba, and Red always got what he wanted.

She held the dress out in front of her. The hand-stitching on the cotton dress was stunning, intricate. The garment itself was almost fragile. She wondered briefly if that's what Red saw when he looked at her.

Liz balled up the delicate dress and let it fall to the floor. With her limited Spanish, Liz called Margarite to the dressing room.

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Liz half-turned in the floor length mirror, pressing the hem of her short blouse and fussing with the tie. The blouse was dark blue like the skirt, and it wrapped across her body where she'd secured it with a hasty bow. Her long Georgette skirt hung just below her hips, leaving a discreet inch of midriff exposed.

She walked into the parlor of the little shop feeling somewhat satisfied with herself. She hadn't bent to Raymond Reddington's will, and with this reveal she intended to claim her victory. Liz strode across the rug, stopping for a few seconds to allow Red to appraise her defiant choice. She even allowed herself a smug little smile as she searched his face for any surprise or disappointment. To her displeasure, she found none. Red studied her quietly, his face impassive, his eyes softer than usual. He stood quickly and was shortly at her side. "I was hoping you would choose blue," he said seductively in her ear. "It matches your eyes, Lizzie." And then, as if by design, his hand found its usual place at the small of her back. Only this time, there was no fabric there to buffer the effect of his touch. The soft pads of his fingers were warm, yet they produced goose flesh on her exposed skin. She could sense his suppressed smile as he led her out of the store.

_Some victory_.

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End file.
